


If I Had A Heart

by biprincess



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 19:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13301217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biprincess/pseuds/biprincess
Summary: Lagertha has made Ragnar her entire world; he has destroyed it in seconds. Will Lagertha ever forgive him? Will he be able to fix the mistakes he's made?





	If I Had A Heart

When he finally comes home, he smells of her. She seeps out of every bit of him, I fucking swear it. 

He thinks that I don't know, he thinks that I am stupid. 

I think I should take his fucking head for my own.

-

You want to know what word is one of the most meaningless in our language? A word than can lose all meaning in a matter of seconds?

"Husband."

In the beginning it can be the best feeling in the world to have one, a 'husband.' There's nothing like being able to say that word; “My husband and children, my husband Ragnar, I love my husband more than anything else in this world.” 

I miss those lazy days from when we started, you know the kind I'm talking about? The ones where you're in a dream-like haze, where you feel like the sun is shining on you all the time, even when you're inside. Where it’s sloppy kisses, passionate sex, orgasms that seem to last for hours instead of days. You just can't get enough of each other, back when Ragnar wanted me and me alone.

Is that what it was like to be with her? Was fucking her like fucking me, like the way we were in the beginning? Is that why he kept doing it, even though he had a loyal wife waiting for him at home? 

I wonder if he bothered to mention that he had two kids at home. Probably not; I’m sure they were a bit preoccupied.

And now he sits in front of me, acting as though he has done nothing wrong. I push a bowl of soup towards him - rabbit, because I know he likes it. I spent all day making it - but this morning I didn't know that we was gonna come home reeking of some whore. If I had? I would’ve poisoned it.

He smiles up at me, eyes full of love, adoration. I don't believe it anymore. It doesn't bring me the joy that it used to. I bet he looked at her like that, too. 

It's funny how fast love can die.

I smile back, though, even though it is hard to do so.

"Eat." I say, sitting down across from him. I push the bowl right in front of him. "Please. While it's still hot."

"Rabbit stew." he says, blowing on it. Wraps his hands around the bowl to get the blood flowing through them again, probably frozen from the cold. "My favorite."

"I know.” I say. 

 

"Are you alright?" he asks, taking a tiny bite to test its temperature. "Did the children not behave well?"

"No, they behaved very well." I say. 

But you didn't.

He nods. "Good."

I watch him scoop up bite after bite of soup, eating it like it's his last meal. I don't know what to say. I've never had this conversation before, and I am not sure where to begin.

I take a deep breath. 

"And you?” 

He hesitates, only for a second, but I catch it. Soup drips off of his spoon and plipsplipsplips into the bowl. 

"And I what?" he asks.

"Were you...well behaved?"

"Of course I was." he says, his tone teetering dangerously close to anger already. "Are you suggesting that I wasn't?" 

"No." I say, treading carefully now. “No, of course not."

I inch away. I don't think he'd hit me, but then again - I didn't think he would ever cheat. 

"More soup?" I offer, if only to change the course of the conversation.

"I can get it." he responds, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"No, don't." I say, standing up. Dutiful wife once again. "I’ve got it. I'm so glad you've come home safe. I am so sorry if it seemed like I doubted you, if even for a second. My apologies, I will not make the mistake again.”

-

The children have fallen asleep, exhausted after a long day of hunting. I sent them out at dawn this morning; they came back with a deer, three rabbits, and flowers that Gyda had picked on the way home. Bjorn dragged the carcass for a mile, and yet she's here in one piece. His father would be so proud. 

Tomorrow I will begin to make jerky and jam, things to stock up on for winter. It's been predicted that we're going to have a harsh one, and I am preparing for the worst one yet.

Ragnar lays next to me, snoring softly, and I watch his chest rise in the candlelight. I wish I could reach out and touch him, curl up into him like I used to, but I can’t, it wouldn’t feel right. What if she did the same, after they made love? Put her hands on my husband like he was hers?

Is this what the gods want for me? Is this what is meant for me?

I have been a loyal wife. A good wife. I believe in the gods, and I have served them well. I have done everything that I am supposed to do, have I not?

And what am I given in return? A husband who does not love me. Who sleeps peacefully at my side even though his cock was just buried in some woman who wasn't me.

A man who claims to love me but only hurts me.

A pregnancy that did not end in a birth, giving previously mentioned husband a new reason to hate said wife. I could not birth him a son and he has begun to despise me for it. He forgets that I am hurting, too. He acts like I lost our child on purpose.

Is this truthfully what I deserve? 

"Wake up." I say in the dark.

He does not. Doesn’t even move.

"Get up." I repeat, louder. "Now."

He rolls over, facing me, but his eyes are still closed, leaving me unsure if he’s awake.

"Now." I say, pushing him so hard he almost falls off the bed. "Right now. I need to ask you something."

He opens his eyes lazily, gives me a sleepy smile.

“What is it?" he mumbles, disinterested.

"Do you love me still?” I ask.

"Of course I do," the lie rolls easily off his tongue. "You are my wife."

"Then why are you upset with me?"

"I never said I was.”

“You did not have to.” I say. “You are my husband, I can tell when you are upset with me.”

He rubs the rest of the sleep from his eyes. Trying to give me his full attention, how sweet. “Really? Why don’t you tell me why I’m upset with you, then?”

"Because I could not birth your son."

He sits up, stretches, hands high above his head.

"Why do you ask me such questions?" he wonders. “I have said nothing about...what happened.”

"You did not have to.” I say, sitting up next to him, pulling the blanket up over my chest, for some reason embarrassed to be completely seen by my own husband, as if he has not seen me before.

In only a few minutes it has become cold enough to see our breaths in the dull light. Our voices seem loud in the quiet, but in truth we are whispering so we don't wake our children. 

"I can feel your rage, Ragnar. I know that your love is fading."

He tilts his head, but he does not deny it.

Instead he sighs, pulls the blanket up around him, and burrows under the covers, turning away from me. 

After a while, he says, “Go to sleep, Lagertha,” and reaches up to put the candle’s flame out with his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

We sit in darkness, in complete silence. I notice that even our breathing has become out of sync. I want to talk about this more, talk about this heaviness that has begun to weigh me down. But I don’t say another word; I wait until I hear his breathing even out, deep and even, letting me know that he’s asleep once again.

When I try to do the same, I find that I cannot.

-

She lingers in the air for 3 days. In his hair, on his clothes, in our bed. When I kiss him goodmorning, “It’s me, your loyal wife, who loves you still,”' I can still taste her on his lips.

How long will she be here for? How long will the gods make me suffer? How long - 

"Where's daddy going?" Gyda asks, bounding in from outside with Bjorn not far behind. Both covered in dirt up to their elbows, probably from Bjorn cleaning out the stables and Gyda helping. She looks up to him so much; I hope he doesn’t let her down. Gyda stops to talk to me, but Bjorn walks past, into the living room, and begins to place pieces of chopped wood into the dying fire. Like he couldn’t care less where his father is going.

"What do you mean?" I say, remembering Aslaug but still chopping up carrots with measured ease, even though my shoulders tense up. "He's not going anywhere."

"Uh huh.” she declares. "He's leaving right now. He said he said something to do."

Something? Or someone? I set my knife down, and hand Gyda a piece of carrot; noticing how she’s struggling to reach the chopping board. 

“Did he say what?” I inquire, immediately suspicious. I squat so we are the same height; rub my thumb over a smudge of dirt that’s on her cheek. She crunches into the carrot. “Did he say where?”

He didn’t actually bring her home with him, did he?

“Did he say where he was going?” I press.

“No.” Gyda answers.

"Well, what direction did he go?" I ask, turning on my heel to face them both. "Towards the mountains, or to the village?"

She shrugs. “I’m sorry, mommy, but I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” I say, standing. “Go play for a bit, can you do that for me?”

“Yes.” and she runs off, ever obedient.

I toss the diced carrots into the bubbling stew and begin to skin the potatoes, careful with the knife when I come dangerously close to slicing myself because I’m shaking so bad.

I wish I knew for sure if she was here, but I can’t follow him because I don’t know where he went. I begin to chop the skinned potato, fast, growing angrier and angrier and even more hurt when -

“Ma.” Bjorn says, peeking his head around the corner. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” I answer, pushing the knife into the table. “I’m fine.”

He comes over and gently takes the knife from me, and he starts to chop up the potatoes.

I go sit, because there’s nothing else for me to do. I massage my temples, this headache coming on right now is going to be a long one.

“Is this about the woman?” he asks, throwing the potatoes in the pot and stirring it.

I lift my head up.

“You know about her?”

He nods, wipes dirt off of a stalk of celery before he cuts the tops off. “Dad fucked her, when we were in England.”

I’m so surprised that I don’t even critique his choice of words. “You saw them?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know if that’s where he went, to see her?”

He shrugs. “I’d assume so.”

“Which way was he headed, Bjorn? To the mountains, or the village?”

Mountains : her.  
Village: not her.

"Mountains." Bjorn answers, shaking his head. “Dad thought I wouldn’t be smart enough to put the pieces together.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well.” he says, chopchopchopping away, “I caught him with her in the middle of the night, on our second night away, and the next morning I told him that I thought what he had done was absolutely disgusting; and he tells me, “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” Bjorn takes on a mocking tone. “Can you believe that? “I couldn't help myself.” What a load of bullshit.”

“Did he actually say that?”

“Mhm.”

He used to say that to me, every time he wanted to go to bed. I try to let the hurt show in my voice.

“What’s her name?” I ask. “Do you know?”

“Aslaug.” he responds. “She showed up out of nowhere, and Dad started drooling over her from the get go.”

“That’s embarrassing.” I say. 

“For everyone involved.” he agrees.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Cause dad said not to.”

W o w. I lean back. He really thought that I wouldn’t find out, and he was doing everything he could so that I didn’t find out, ever. The urge to reach into his chest and rip his heart out is really strong right about now.

“So why are you telling me, then? Why are you disobeying your father’s wishes?”

“Well,” he says, letting the stew simmer for a bit, “I’m telling you because dad made me angry by sleeping with her. And I’ve been trying to decide if I should keep his secret but then I realized; no, I should not. I am ashamed of him and his secret. He has been unfaithful, and for what? Some woman he only knew for 10 minutes? No. I won’t have it.”

I smile in spite of what I am being told. “You are not angry with me, though?”

“No.” he says. “Of course not. Why would I be angry with you?”

-

“Listen.” I say, kissing each child on the top of their heads, even though Bjorn is getting too old for it. “Mommy will be back soon, alright? Play nice with one another and be good.”

“Okay.” they respond in unison.

“You’re a good girl.” I say, peppering Gyda with extra kisses that make her giggle and shrug me off. “Mommy loves you. Go play for a minute, will you? Mommy needs to have a talk with Bjorn for a minute.”

‘Are you going to kill dad?” he asks, the moment Gyda has run out of earshot. “Like, for real?”

I hesitate, for only a second. “No.”

“Why not?”

I chuckle. “Everyone would know that it was me who killed him.”

“So?”

“Well, that wouldn’t be smart! Rollo would be angry; the entire village would be angry! I killed their king - they’d blood eagle me for sure - then I wouldn’t be able to come home to my children, whom I would miss very much.”

“You’re talking to me like I’m a baby.” Bjorn says.

“Sorry.” I apologize. “I forget that you are not. Now listen, okay? You know what to do if a stranger comes around?”

“Course.” he answers.

“What do you do?” I test.

“Run and hide.” 

Correct.

“But if they find you?”

“Fight them tooth and nail.”

“If they get you anyway?”

“Kill them.” he declares.

I grin. “Good boy. Now go watch your sister. I’ll be back soon.”

He runs off and sits in the dirt next to Gyda, and she immediately involves him in her game. He entertains her, putting on a funny voice to give some life to an old doll we gave her years ago.

I only look back on them once as I make my way up the mountainside, the butterflies in my stomach already preparing to die when they find what waits at the top.

-

The sky is so overcast it could be nighttime, but the few fluffy white clouds stop that from happening. The wind is cold, biting, and I can hear it whipping by the trees, knocking the smallest branches into each other, causing small pops that make me jump. All the dead leaves underfoot seem to break louder. practically echoing in my ears. A crow caws, far away, and it does so again, like a warning sign.

At the very top of the mountain, there is nothing but fog, so thick you can barely see through it. It wouldn’t be smart to go up there; but then again, my husband is a fucking idiot.

My guess is her took her to Floki’s house; it’s secluded in the trees, quiet, the perfect place for piece of shit husbands to cheat on their loving wives.

Thunder rolls across the sky, lighting brightening it for only a second.

And then I see it.

Floki’s house - a shack, really. I can smell the smoke from burning wood already. A fire to keep them warm? I thought they had each other for that.

I look down on it, and though I am angry, and hurt, and I want him to know that I no longer love him in the way that I used to; I hesitate. If I go down there, everything will change. Ragnar could leave me for her; but then again, he could leave me for her no matter what I do.

I take a tentative step forward, and the wet earth beneath my feet gives a bit, and it shocks my heart back to the present and in that instant, I decide that I will go down there and confront him.

Standing in front of the splintering wood door, I can now feel the warmth of the fire, causing my cheeks to flush with warmth in this cold. I am almost scared to open the door; I am thrown back to the day of my wedding, thinking too far into the future and letting it scare me, all the what if’s that come with being wed.

I hear her - wait, sorry, Aslaug - laugh, like wind chimes, pretty, light, carefree. She probably is, too. But then her laugh dissolves into a moan, and I can hear him groaning low, guttural. The sound of skin against skin, him ramming into her again and again, and I don’t want to go in there, I don’t, I don’t want to see him and her, together in ways that he should be with only me, but I push open the door and it creeeeeeaks, letting my arrival be known, and I instantly wish I could go back home, to my kids, to a false marriage, a fake love, instead of only being able to watch as my husband slides out of her, off of her, trying to separate his clothes from the heap of their mixed up garments on the floor by the bed. Apologizing, pleading, saying, “Lagertha, what are you doing here?” while she just wraps up her chest in the knit blanket and scrambles up to the corner of the bed, back against the wall. She makes no effort to get her clothes, instead using the blanket that’ll soon be stained in their cum.

She’s stunning, really, I can't deny that, no matter how bad I want to Her hair is long, auburn, wavy, thick. Messy right now, from my husband’s hands. Her eyes are rimmed in kohl that is smeared at the moment; but they are still striking nonetheless. Her cheekbones are high, prominent, and her lips are full, luscious, I bet under that blanket she has a body that Ragnar simply couldn’t resist. What an assholse.

She is completely different from me; as far as I can tell, we share not a single thing in common. But then again, that could be why he likes her.

“Who are you?” she asks, looking directly at me, speaking loudly over the still apologizing Ragnar. “Are you a friend of Floki’s?”

 

Oh, so Ragnar has not mentioned that he has a wife. How convenient. A decent woman would not screw a married man, but then again, a decent man would’ve mentioned a wife.

He stands there, lost, head going back and forth between the two of us, as if this were some sort of game, ‘who do you truly love?’ and he’s racing against time to try and decide, and I k n o w that in this moment he would probably pick her. If he wasn’t even a tiny bit in love with her, then what is he doing with her when he has me at home?

“Are you a friend of Floki’s?” she repeats, louder.

“Um…” my voice comes out soft; I can feel my eyes stinging with tears, the hot burn of them welling up. I take a step back, reach for the door behind me. He can’t know how much this has hurt me, he can’t, he can’t, and DAMNIT why won’t this door open, I have to get out of here right now -

“Do you know her?” Aslaug demands, “Damnit, Ragnar, answer me!”

“No.” I respond, answering for him. “No, he doesn’t know me, not personally. I’m only a friend of Floki’s, so sorry to intrude. He didn’t mention that anyone was going to be home.”

I want to say something else, but nothing comes to mind, and so the only thing I can do is spin on my heel and get out of there. I can hear Ragnar calling my name after me, shouting it the farther away that I get, and the faint voice of Aslaug demanding to know who I am, and what I was doing there, and why he lied to her, just like he lied to me.

-

I run all the way home, hiking my dress up as to not to trip over the ends. Branches bite into my ankles, and I’m only able to dodge a few, then I stop trying. It begins to rain lightly and the water and blood mix; it stains my clothes as it falls. Lightning off in the distance; the sky flashes purple, blue, white. Something has angered the gods; something has hurt them, too.

-

My children are not playing out front anymore, so I give myself a moment to compose the best that I can. I wipe at my cheek, a streak of red striking against the white of my sleeve. Shit, shit, just how scratched up am I? I wipe at my face, ignoring the pain, and rub the remaining tears away, even though it’s unnecessary because I could just blame it on the rain. That’s the best I can do right now - I’ll fix myself up better when I get inside.

“Children?” I call, once I walk through the door. “Where are my babies?”

I wait, and then I hear it; the unmistakable sound of feet hitting the floor, then I see her, my baby girl, eager to see me.

“Mommy!” she exclaims, and I squat to wrap her in my arms. “You’re bleeding. Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing, baby, mommy just wasn’t paying attention.” I bounce her a little on my hip. “Oh, I am so glad to see you.”  
I take in her scent. 

“Where is Bjorn? Did anyone come?”

“No one came.” she says. “And he’s restarting the fire.”

I set her down and call for Bjorn.

“Did you kill dad?” he asks, the first words out his mouth when he sees me. “Did you kill him?”

“No.” I say. “He’ll be home any minute, probably.”

He sighs disgustedly. “Was he with her?”

“Mhmmm.” I say.

“Were they having sex?”

Gyda looks up at me.

I swallow loudly, nod.

Bjorn shakes his head. 

-

Just when we start to get used to life without him around, Ragnar comes back. Almost a month later, like the son of a bitch could tell that things were just starting to look up and he decided that he simply couldn’t have that. When he didn’t come home on that night, I had assumed that he had left me for Aslaug.

I’m home alone when he arrives, having sent the children into town to get food for the upcoming week.

Honestly, I was not expecting him to come home at all.

He knocks on the door. (Can you imagine, a father having to knock on his own front door because he is so unwelcome?)

And I answer it, completely unaware; and there he stands, clothes bloodies, skin caked in dirt. Cut up, almost wheezing. He looks to be in pain, but I could also be imagining that. (Hoping for it?)

He doesn’t say anything, simply looks at me.

“Ragnar.” I say. Shit, I am not prepared for this situation at all. “What...what are you doing here?”

He reaches up and brushes a rough thumb across the healing cut on my cheek. His touch feel foreign. He lets it linger there, for too long, to the point where I have to push his hand away.

“Lagertha.” he says.  
“Ragnar.” I repeat. “What are you doing here? I thought...I thought you were with her. With Aslaug.”

“Not anymore.” he says. “Lagertha, please, I made a mistake in what I’ve done.”

“You humiliated me.” I say. “All of Kattegat knows of your betrayal.”

“They will soon forget.”

“But I won’t.”

I shut the door fast, before I can change my mind and let him back into my life.

-

That night he crawls into bed next to me when it's the darkest point of night, careful not to touch me. I can sense that we have made him sad, but I do not feel sorry about it.

I wonder if he’s going to say anything about dinner, but no one in this family has spoken since.

"Lagertha." he whispers through the dark.

I close my eyes fast, even though I am facing the wall and he couldn't see if I was awake he wanted to.

"Lagertha." he repeats.  
I give him nothing.

“I know you are still awake.” he says.

But I remain quiet.

Finally I hear him sigh, and he burrows into the blankets, and instead of sleeping he simply tosses and turns all night, just like me.

I thank the gods for making him in as much pain as I am.

-

Gyda whimpering is what wakes us up; and when I got to her, I see that she is drenched in a cold sweat. Bjorn, too; but he still sleeps soundly, unknowing of his sickness just yet.

"Gyda." I say, pulling her out of bed. "What is it, what's wrong?" 

"I don't feel well." she says, and she keels over, vomiting at my feet. It’s nothing but blood. "Mommy, I think we're dying."

-

"This is your fault." I hiss at Ragnar, wringing out the rag. "You've angered the gods with what you've done to me. He'll take our children from us for this, I’m sure of it."

“They won’t.” Ragnar says. “They won’t! But I really shouldn’t have -”

"Yes." I interrupt. "You're goddamn right that you shouldn't have. Look what you've fucking done to our children, you no good bastard. They're fucking dying."

"It is not my fault." he insists. “It’s not, it’s not.”  
"Oh, it is." I assure him. "It most definitely is. You’ve fucked us all, Ragnar, look at what you’ve done.”

He throws his hands up, following me into the room, where I press the rag to Gyda’s forehead. 

"Will you fucking give it up?" he hisses. "I know what I did, and I know what's happening! I know that you're right, Lagertha, but what do you want me to do about it?”

“I don’t know.” I say. “But you’d better figure something out.”

-

Gyda won't stop vomiting, and Bjorn still has not woken; he's alive, but his pulse is weak. There is nothing I can do but tend to them; keep them as cool as I can, and wait this out. I am worrying, and fretting, and scared out of my mind. I can’t lose my children, I can’t, I can’t. 

Last night I was thanking the gods and now I am cursing them.  
Ragnar has disappeared; and he doesn't come back, even as the children worsen, and the sky darkens; and it becomes night time, and I do not sleep.

Morning comes, and they still do not heal; but on the third day, Bjorn wakes. That’s something, right?

As the day turns into afternoon, Bjorn’s sweating reduces. There are hours in between Gyda puking.

I have no idea what Ragnar has done, but it is working. When he comes back, I will be sure to thank him.

-

On the fifth day, the children are better; not completely, but better. Ragnar has not come back. I am worried about him; I am trying not to let it show, though.

-

On the 6th day, he does come home. He comes up behind me as I am making dinner, snakes his hand around my waist, nuzzles into my neck, like he missed me, like he hasn't seen me in a long time, like we’re still in love. He’s acting as though he had a brush with death, like I almost died or something.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?" I ask, wriggling out of his grasp.

"Forgive me." he says. "I have missed you."

"You were only gone for 6 days." I say.

He shrugs. "I missed you every one."

I close my eyes, and my shoulders fall; I didn’t even know that I was tense.

"I'm sorry about everything that's happened." he says, making a move towards me but stopping when he sees me back away.. "So sorry. I shouldn't have cheated, and I deeply regret doing it, and if you take me back, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

“What?” I say, thrown off guard. “What? Where is this coming from, Ragnar?”

"Listen. I know what I've done to you, and I will regret it every day of my life; and I know what I've done to this family, and I will do everything that I can to make it up to you, to the kids. I'm tired of my wife hating me, I'm tired of my children hating me. I'm so sorry I hurt you, Lagertha. You didn't deserve that."

"You pushed me away because I couldn't have your child." I say, my voice breaking.

"I did." he admits.

"I lost a child, too.” I remind him.

"I know."

I push him away. "Then how dare you stop loving me because of that, if even for a second!"  
"I didn't, I didn't."

"But you did, you did! You stopped loving me, Ragnar, how could you do that?" I'm hitting his chest now, beating against it. "I have been nothing but loyal to you, and you took advantage of that! You took advantage of me!”

"I know." he says. "And I'm sorry. Please just think about forgiving me, Lagertha, please. I need you back. I need my family back. I need...goddamnit, I need my wife back."

I feel tears burn hot on my cheeks. "Ragnar..."

"We're meant to be together." he says. "You're the love of my life.”

“Then why did you cheat?” I murmur. “I didn’t deserve to be hurt like that.”

-

He comes later in the night, as he has done since he came home. We don't talk anymore, we lay in bed together, two strangers. 

Usually I am asleep by this time, but tonight, I have stayed awake.

His back is to me, but I watch him shed his clothes anyway, his shirt the first to go.

"Where were you?" I ask.

He jumps at the sound of my voice.

"What?" he says, but I know he heard me. I think he's shocked that I'm even talking to him at all.

"Where did you go when you left?" I reiterate.

"I, um..." he turns around to face me. The candlelight plays off his face as he looks down at me. He sighs. "Truth?"

I nod, propping my head up on my hand. "Truth."

He pauses for a minute, then picks up the candle, and slowly leads the flame over his chest, flame dancing dangerously close to skin. 

“Be carefu -” I start to say, but what I see causes me to stop short. 

“What?...” I trail.

There's one in his stomach. Another one right below it; and yet another one, horizontal. The wounds are beginning to heal already, but they're still bad. Red and angry scars; screaming at me, yelling, “You did this!”

I sit up, concerned, and climb over to him, placing a foot on each side of his legs. I'm at the perfect height to see his wounds.

"What happened?" I ask, reaching out to touch one. I withdraw like it’s burned me. It’s awful, they’re horrible, who could’ve possibly done this? “ Who did this to you?"

He swallows loudly, clears his throat. Looks at anywhere but me. 

"Me." he whispers. "I did."

-

“What?” I say. “Wh - why?”

He shifts his weight. "You know how the kids got sick?" he mumbles.

"Of course, of course." I say. "And?"

"You told me to fix it.” he says, motioning to his stomach. And I did."

"How?"

"The gods were angry -"

"How?" I say, raising my voice, making it hard, cold.

"I had to give them something to make them happy, Lagertha."

"So what? You gave them yourself? You sacrificed yourself?"

"I had to." he pleads for me to understand. "It was me, or the kids. Me or you. A life for life."

"What?” I exclaim. “Are you fucking stupid?”

"I did what I had to." he says.

"No, you acted irrationally! You could have died!”

“Would you have cared if I had?”

I falter. “Of course.”

He laughs. “You always were an awful liar.” 

He climbs into bed next to me, leaving an ocean between us.

“You don’t have to pretend that you care, Lagertha” he says. “It’s alright.”

I don’t say anything.

“I do love you, though.” he says. “I know you know that, but I think you’ve forgotten it. I love you more than anything, Lagertha. Just try to keep that in mind, alright?”

He smiles, and comes close. I close my eyes as he kisses my forehead, and then he rolls away from me, because he knows that it hurts to be this close to him.

-

It’s the middle of the night but I have not slept a wink.

“Ragnar.” I say.

“Yes.” he answers right away. 

“Why did you do it?”

“What? Aslaug, or me?”

“Aslaug.” I confirm.

The cande dwindles down, close to the end. He searches my eyes. “Honestly? I’ve been over it and over it in my mind, Lagertha, and I can’t find a valid reason. Maybe I wanted to hurt you because I was hurt because we lost the baby -”

“But that wasn’t my fault.” I interrupt. “I didn’t want that.”

“I know, it’s just a thought I had. Or maybe,” he continues, “The gods were testing me. Maybe I needed to realize exactly what I had, and stop taking it for granted. There’s a lot of possibilities; but in the end, there’s only one reason.”

“Which is what?” I wonder.

“I never have been and never will be deserving of your love. You’re too good for me, and I thought I was good enough for you. But after Aslaug” - I cringe at her name - “Sorry. After her I’ve realized that I am not. You have been a completely loyal wife and there is no other possible reason as to why I would jeopardize that, except for the fact that I am unworthy of what I have been given.”

I don’t know what to say. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were worried about us?”

“Not us.” he corrects. “Me. I was worried about me. And I am so sorry I did this to us. I’m sorry about Aslaug, sorry about not being there for you, I am so sorry you lost the baby.”

I’m sorry that you can do better than me. I’m sorry I let you down, I’m just...I’m just so fucking sorry, Lagertha.”

I try to to say something, anything, but I only come up empty.

“You can leave me, you know. At anytime, you can just get up and leave me. I’m surprised you haven’t done it yet.”

He tucks a loose curl behind my ear, and smiles.

“I love you more than anything.” he whispers. “I must have forgotten.”

I make the snap decision, in the moment, to try and make us work. I know what he has done, and I know that it will be hard to forgive such betrayal - but I have always had a big heart - my mother said that it would always get me in trouble.

“I don’t want to leave you.” I say. “You are my husband. You are my world.”

“But -”

“I know what you did, and it will take time for me to forgive you. You are going to have to be patient with me. But I love you still, Ragnar. I can’t change that.”

“Lagertha...”

“All will be okay.” I say. “I mean, look at what your quilt has done to you. Look at us, this is the most we’ve talked in weeks, and I didn’t want to rip your head off at all!”

He bursts out laughing, and it’s so genuine it shocks me. I playfully cover his mouth to quiet him; we don't want to wake the kids.

“It makes me realize how much I miss you.” I whisper, only my hand between our mouths. “I need you, Ragnar. I want us to try and be us again.”

“Really?” he sounds relieved, and he pulls me to him, my head on his chest, and I’m hearing his heartbeat for the first time in a long time. “Are you sure? Because you know that you can do better than me. You can leave right now, take the kids with you - “

“Hush.” I cut in. “That’s not necessary.”

I look up at him, and he’s already gazing at me. He leans in to kiss me, and we wait for a minute, trying each other out again, and for a brief minute an intrusive thought comes into my head. 

What if he doesn’t like the way I taste now? No, no, I don’t want it, go away go away go away.

I crawl on top, straddling him, deepening the kiss, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and entangling my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. He slides his hand up under my top, fingers cold on my back, and we break so he can pull it off. For a minute I feel uncomfortable; but it passes, and I grind into him, feeling him harden underneath me. His breathing has become ragged, and I realize just how much I miss this, making him feel this way, to want and be wanted so completely. I want to go faster, but I keep it slow, riding up on him, teasing him, moaning softly. Keeping him going. I throw my head back, chest open to him, and he hungrily puts his mouth on my breast, takes the nipple between his teeth, and I whimper, feeling myself grow wet. Ragnar pushes me back into the bed, a rough hand trailing up my thigh and in between them, and he kisses his way down me, to the inside of my thighs, and replaces his hand with mouth. I groan as he tastes me; and then I grow eager to feel him inside me once again.

-

When I kiss him now, he tastes of me.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again.” I warn, steadying my breath. “You almost ruined us.”

“I know.” he says. “I’m sorry.”

I nuzzle in deeper, relishing in his warmth.

“Who found you?” I ask. “After the, um…”

He shrugs. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but I don’t know. Maybe the gods saved me.”

“And then what? You just walked home?”

“Well...yeah. I had...I had to get home to you.” he confesses. “It was the only thing that kept me going.”

“Ragnar.” I say.

“Yes?”

“There’s one more thing that I need you to know.”

 

“Okay.” he says. “What is it?”

I look into his eyes.

“If you ever cheat on me again.” I warn him, “I’ll take your fucking head, I fucking swear it.”

He tilts his head, judging to see if I’m telling the truth. I don’t waver; if there’s a next time, I’ll take his head off without a second thought.

“Understood.” he says, finally, kissing the top of my head. “Understood.”

-

The candle burns itself out, and we’re left in the dark. After a while the two of us fall asleep, him first, then me. We are tangled up in each other, taking some time for ourselves before we give us another try.

Before we see if we can become us again.


End file.
